The Rise of The Crow
by MaskedPersonage
Summary: Crow, after once again letting the ASOIAF universe get destroyed, has been sent once again by the Lord Inquisitor. Will he manage to save Westeros from a second Long Night? Or will he fail once again, dooming the Omniverse? Severely AU, OC main character, nonsensical nonsense. Rated M for cussing and nonchalant mentioning of gratuitous intercourse and violence. Prepare yourself.


_**CHAPTER ONE: CHILDHOOD**_

"Again? You must be joking, Lord Inquisitor." The crow said, with a hint of confusion in his voice.

"I'm afraid that humor does not come to me easily, Crow. Your mission is clear. Do you wish for me to elaborate? You've messed this up two times yet. Fuck up once more and the Omniverse itself is doomed."

Crow smirked as he transformed back into his human form. Covered from head to toe in black furs, with hair blacker than the darkest of nights, he cut an imposing figure. His skin was as pale as moonlight, and just as pretty. Looks deceive.

"I'm aware, Lord Inquisitor. I swear it, this time I'll not fail." Crow said, smirk still placed on his handsome face.

"Good. This time you're a bastard. Not that it's any different here, of course, but this time you'll be a literal bastard. Go forth, Evan Stone, and save the World of Summer from the longest of winters." The Inquisitor said.

"Only one of the dark can destroy it, Lord Inquisitor. I'll see you when I return." A hint of silver flashed before his eyes became blue, and before the Inquisitor knew it, Crow had disappeared.

"May the Gods speed you on your path, Crow."

* * *

Crow was five. It was here than Evan Stone's destiny would begin. A bastard of the Vale, he understood; what he didn't understand was why the woman with red hair hated him. A Tully, she was. Lysa was her name, he recalled from one of his previous lives here. Insane, too, not that Crow couldn't sympathize with a healthy bit of insanity.

What was important was this man, the one Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, was talking to. Jon was, apparently, Evan's father. Not that Crow much understood these petty humans and their foolishness, but he had treated Jon as a father nonetheless, much as it sickened him.

"Very well, Jon. Evan will be fostered in Winterfell. But what of Catelyn? Need I bring yet another bastard to Winterfell, even if this one is not my...own." Lord Stark said, his eyes on Jon Arryn rather than Crow.

"Please, Ned. I don't want Lysa to hurt him any longer. Please." Jon begged, rather uncharacteristic for him.

Lord Stark accepted, of course, and so Crow found his way to Winterfell. Joy of joys.

Evan had spent the last year training with Rodrik Cassel, somber Master-at-Arms of Winterfell. It was boring here. Crow yearned for blood, but kept his sadistic tendencies a secret from Lord Stark. Speaking of him, he was as boring as the septons the men south of these lands had faith in. Babbling on and on about "honor" and such human concepts of morality; it reminded him of the Lord Inquisitor, at least before he learned that Crow would never grasp humanity.

Nonetheless, Crow played along. He even began to grow fond of the wolf lord, though Crow would never admit to such a thing. He treated the younger Starks as the youths they were. Robb was now five, Crow six. Sansa had just been born a year past. And Jon Snow, bastard of Lord Stark, kept his distance from Evan, though he seemed happy enough to play boy games with Robb when they were alone.

But everything changed, as Lord Stark had just returned from crushing the Ironborn in their ill-thought out rebellion. And with him was ten-year old Theon Greyjoy. Tall, lean, dark, and almost as handsome as young Crow was shaping up to be. (Since Crow was free to choose what he looked like, he saw no need to choose something ugly).

His most prominent trait, though, was his profound assholery. Crow knew he had just been taken from his home, but did he really have to be such an asshole about it? Perhaps he should question someone more learned on the matter.

"What are you doing, bastards?" Theon asked, almost ready to spat on Crow.

Wait, bastards? Shouldn't it be bastard? Unless...

Yup. While Crow sat down here, trying to quietly brood, Jon Snow had sat down right beside him, doing the exact same thing.

"Is it within your rights to blame me or Jon on something neither of us were responsible for? Move aside, Greyjoy. It is dark, past me and Jon's bedtimes." Crow turned to face Jon. "Jon, would you like to sleep in the stables with me? I heard Lady Stark was bothering you again."

Crow saw Theon fuming in the corner of his vision, and it was satisfying.

* * *

The next interesting (Crow uses terms like that lightly) event was the birth of Arya Stark, third child of what seemed to be the fertile coupling of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark, formerly Tully. Crow understood the purposes of intercourse, but questioned why they would want to bring more filthy humans into the world. He had done things such as it before, and he found it felt good, but was it really worth the cost of even more humans to clog up the Omniverse?

Sansa was now four, Robb eight, and Evan nine. Assholic old Theon Greyjoy was now the even more frustrating age of thirteen, and his teenage nature was even worse than his pre-pubescent nature. Poor Jon was taking a lot of flak for that, not that Theon let Crow off with a break either.

"She doesn't look much like me, Evan." Young Sansa said, after having visited her mother in the birthing room.

Evan ignored her. Previous lives had taught him that as soon as she learned what a "bastard" was, her respect for him and Jon would lower considerably. He didn't need to spend his limited amount of time on her. Studying with Maester Luwin, and martial training, were important if this fictional Evan Stone was to fulfill his destiny.

He just wished time would go by faster.

* * *

Yet another three years of waiting and training, and Brandon Stark was born. Only one more left, and a few years after, and Crow could finally get to completing the whole "destiny" thing. The Stark siblings were much more annoying, now. Arya was around three, and already somewhat of a tomboy.

Sansa, the beautiful young seven year old she now was, had recently become aware of the meaning of bastards. Naturally, she avoided him and Jon like the plague. She was becoming more haughty and ladylike and time went on. Her new best friend was Jeyne Poole, daughter of Winterfell's steward. Almost as annoying as her, too.

Robb, now eleven, had lost interest in Evan and was now juggling friendships with Jon and Theon, of all people. Theon was sixteen, and had largely gotten over his major issues. Sort of. He still was an asshole, but it had become simply his personality rather than enmity over a rebellion that was lost six years ago.

Jon, though, was pretty much Crow's only friend left in Winterfell. Maybe Crow's rather bloodthirsty, cocky nature conflicted in just the right ways with Jon, who was becoming more somber than the Master-at-Arms. Crow's conclusion: he really needed to get laid.

Crow had done it five times over the course of having turned twelve. And, it still felt just as great as it did previously. Crow was becoming just as handsome as his original form, letting his jet-black hair grow out and reach his shoulders.

"You're almost a man grown, Evan." Lord Stark said, after Theon, Crow, Robb, and Jon had returned from cutting some criminals heads off (which, sadly, Crow had not been allowed to participate in.)

"Yes, Lord Stark. Three years yet." Crow responded, a cautious smile on his face.

Lord Stark never noticed the insincerity flashing in his eyes, older than his body.

* * *

Two years later, and Rickon was finally born. Crow had long gone accustomed to Lady Stark pumping out babies like some sort of machine, but the other children, excluding Jon and Theon, crowded around him like his mere existence was some sort of achievement.

Crow simply talked to Jon, while Theon was off gods know where, probably whoring, as he was want to do, now that he was eighteen. Jon, even more somber than he used to be, was not the most exciting company.

"Evan. Do you...know, who your father was?"

"Yes, Jon. In fact, I'm pretty sure my father was your namesake. Jon Arryn, of the Vale." Crow stated, paying only half attention to the question.

"Why are you here, then?" Jon asked.

"The red-haired woman."

* * *

"Direwolves?"

...


End file.
